


and call it mine

by nilchance



Series: ain't this the life [9]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Fellcest - Freeform, M/M, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Voyeurism, cross-universe bullshit shenanigans, detailed content notes in end notes, kustard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 16:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: Edge never claimed to be particularly moral. Alternate POV to 'detox just to retox'.





	and call it mine

There’s something wrong with Red. More than usual, anyway.

The second Edge came in the door, Red was on him, all hungry mouth and searching hands. Edge fucked him against their front door, Red’s legs locked around him, Red’s fingers digging into his shoulders, Red moaning sweetly in Edge’s ear as he clung to him. It had been good, but Edge could taste the desperation in it. When it was done, Red had gone off to shower with a breezy grin that wouldn’t have fooled Edge if he was concussed.

Now, with Red stretched out on the couch beside him, a stationary target for the first time since Edge got home, Edge says, “So Sans hasn’t changed his mind.”

Red goes still. Then he asks, “What’s that got to do with anything?”, which is so blatantly stupid a question that Edge can only give him a flat look. Red doesn’t quail under it, but his expression flickers like a faulty TV. “No. Guess your little plan’s on the backburner until Sans figures his shit out. Should be any day between now and when hell freezes over.”

“My little plan,” Edge echoes.

Red’s jaw sets. “Well, yeah. You’re the boss.”

The first night Sans decided he was done, Red was fine. He told Edge matter-of-factly, casual as discussing the weather, that Sans was having the freakout Red figured was coming any day now and to give him a few days to come crawling back. No visiting Sans on break, no pushing. They would just wait it out because Sans’s return was inevitable. If Red was less than completely sure, Edge was the only one who would see it in the lines around his eyes and the tightness of his smile.

The second night Red got more confident, if anything. Lunch had gone well, he said. Sans looked twitchy and miserable and seemed disappointed that Red didn’t touch him. Everything was absolutely fine. Red had been insatiable that night, sucking Edge’s cock like he was trying to make a point, biting Edge’s jaw, digging his fingers into Edge’s arms hard enough to leave marks.

And now this.

Edge takes Red by the chin, making Red look at him. “What changed?”

“Nothing,” Red says, sullen.

“What happened to ‘he’ll come crawling back’?”

“Not a damned thing. He will.” When Edge continues to stare him down, Red growls irritably and jerks his head free. “I’m a fucking judge, not a psychic. I don’t know how long it’s gonna take.”

Clearly Red thought he’d be back by now. Sans isn’t caving. Red is perhaps remembering that he’s been holding stubbornly to his insistence that Edge be unkind to him for years now. Papyrus has been apparently trying for four months to argue, guilt, manipulate, and nag Sans into quitting one or two of his five jobs. Sans just smiled, nodded, dropped two jobs, and immediately picked up two more to replace them. Like Red, it takes a lot for Sans to dig his heels in, but when he does, it’s hell itself to move him.

“And if he doesn’t come back?” Edge asks. If Red thinks that’ll change things between he and Edge, he needs to be disabused of that notion right the fuck now. The point is to get Sans in a collar. Fucking him is just a nice bonus.

Red shrugs, careless, but his tone is almost vicious. “Then fuck him. You don’t need me to soften him up. You can get in his pants without me.”

Before Edge can respond, Red’s cell phone trills suddenly from its place in his jacket pocket. As far as Edge can tell, Red chose his ringtone to be the most annoying sound in the world. It reverberates in Edge’s skull. Red glances at his pocket without any particular interest.

All civilized people pick up within two rings, but Red was apparently raised by garbage wolves. By the third ring, Edge’s patience runs out. He snaps, “Are you going to fucking get that or not?”

Red raises his brows. “Shit, boss, if you’re gonna be weird about it.” Without any urgency, Red roots around in his jacket pocket. This process takes two more rings because Red is deliberately hammering on Edge’s last fucking nerve. He’ll pay for that, which Red is probably counting on.

Red switches gears the second he picks up the phone. His brother has masks on top of masks, wearing and discarding them with eerie speed. The person that he is when it's the two of them, as close to off guard as he ever is, is gone, replaced by the perfect drinking buddy, all vulgar jokes and roughly sympathetic ear with the occasional wad of cash passed under the table. He doesn't put on the smile that matches it, and the difference is disquieting. "Hey, dollface. Been a while. Just gotta have a fix of my jokes or what?"

 _Is this business?_ he means. _Tell me something interesting and I'll make it worth your while._

A moment for whoever's calling to speak. Red sits up, suddenly much more alert. Edge tenses automatically in response. Red’s voice stays the same lazy drawl. "Yeah? That's funny. No, I stayed in tonight. The missus, you know how it is."

Edge narrows his eyes at him. Red winks. If Red is giving him shit no one's dead, at least, but Red is tense as he continues breezily, "You at Skippy's tonight, like usual? I might wanna come check this out." A pause. "Hey, I'm your pal. I'll spot you a round, how's that? Maybe a little extra so you can buy your girl something pretty. Don't go anywhere."

Red hangs up on them, flipping his phone shut. He's smiling like some fool just turned their back to him in a fight, thinking him harmless. "Guess who's fucking a dude in a bathroom?"

No one touches Red in Snowdin. Edge has seen monsters back away from Red in crowded places for fear of even bumping against him. No one touches a collared monster unless they’re trying to start a fight.

But. 

Sans wears no collar. Sans hasn’t taken food from his hand. Edge has no claim on him and he has no right to object. He can’t hold Sans to rules he never agreed to in the first place.

Sans is fucking another monster at Skippy's. On the entirely wrong side of town, where there have been several anti-monster protests. At almost 2 AM. In a bathroom, the most disgusting possible location. Edge sighs. "Of course he is. Why the fuck is he doing it there?"

"What d'you expect him to do, cruise at Grillby's?" Red asks, like he's pointing out something criminally obvious. “He won’t want it to get back to his bro.”

"There are other monster bars, for fuck's sake," Edge says. Red shrugs. "He's fucking someone else in the stupidest way possible. Why do you look smug?"

“Don’t get me wrong,” Red says. “I don’t like it. I wanna break every bone in this motherfucker’s hands. But Sans is weird about letting _me_ get him off. He was weird about it back when he was doing this all the time, apparently. I don't think he's gonna let the guy touch him.”

“Oh, well, that makes everything better,” Edge says sourly. “So long as he’s only sexually gratifying some selfish bastard who isn’t taking care of him, that’s fine.”

“C’mon, boss. You wouldn’t be any happier if the dude returned the favor.” Red stands up, stretching, and pulls his shoes on without bothering to tie them. Edge clears his throat pointedly, and Red rolls his eyes and ties his shoes like a reasonable adult. "When he comes out of the bar all sexually frustrated, I'm gonna be there to remind him what he could have."

It’s been three days. It’s not like Sans has forgotten. Still, looking at Red, the cocky tilt of his grin like he's never had a moment of doubt in his life, Edge has a hard time imagining how Sans could tell him no.

"Fetch," Edge says.

Red’s grin is feral. "Woof."

Then he's gone. 

It’ll be several minutes before Red returns. Edge isn’t going to just sit on the couch and fret. He’s an extremely productive monster with responsibilities. In the spirit of that, he goes to the kitchen table and retrieves the stack of paperwork he brought home. It’s only a fraction of the backlog that needs to be completed, but he can’t drag an entire filing cabinet home. By which he means that he could, the cabinet’s not that heavy, but Undyne has given him strict orders not to be a nerd. Pointing out that he’s never been a nerd in his life, he’s a hardened killing machine, only made her sock him in the arm and declare that trying to use logic on her is exactly why he’s a nerd. Then she hit him with the filing cabinet and he blackened her good eye. It would have been a good fight if the king hadn’t intervened.

Edge settles onto the couch with his paperwork and starts to transfer the informal disasters that were the Royal Guard’s daily report into the actual official forms. It’s slow, frustrating work. The sloppiness and insubordination would have earned any of them disciplinary action in Edge’s universe. Sans in particular would have ended up in his own judgment hall with Edge administering punishment, the only one with control enough to hurt a low HP monster without killing them. Sans doesn’t have the goddamn sense not to bait kings, even one who lets his subjects call him ‘Fluffybuns’ to his face. Being the judge will only get him so much leeway. Red is proof of that.

Several minutes pass, long enough for Edge to almost forget himself in his work. Almost. Then, with a faint crackling hum, Red is back. He has Sans with him.

Sans looks like hell, which is unsurprising. Sans has looked like hell from the second they met, with some variation in what layer of hell he looks like at any particular time. At his best, Sans manages to look like merely purgatory. Purgatory is the best Edge gets from Red, too, no matter how well-rested or well-fed Edge keeps him. They have the kind of face that lends itself to looking gently shabby.

Tonight is not the worst he's ever seen Sans. He's not coughing fit to break his ribs. But it's bad enough. He looks frayed thin. His eyelights are dim. Edge would bet that Sans hasn’t gotten more than five hours of sleep in two nights, which is fine for a Papyrus but courting collapse for a Sans. He was on the wrong side of town alone, looking like this. If Sans was actively trying to trigger Edge's worst protective instincts, he couldn't have done a better job. Edge doesn't throw Sans over his shoulder and drag him to their bed where he will goddamn well sleep if Edge has to cuff him there, but it's a near thing.

Where they came from, leaving a monster like Sans uncollared would be begging for someone else to take advantage. The kindest outcome would be for someone to just kill him, but there are other things. Worse things. Leaving him unmarked, unkept… Edge would no more do that than he’d turn his back on Red while he was bleeding out. It’s the worst kind of negligence.

Things are different here. Sans isn’t under constant threat of being hurt by others. He’s perfectly happy to do it to himself.

Behind Sans's back, Red shakes his head fast, a silent warning. Sans will accept more handling from Red than from Edge. If Edge pushes too hard, Sans will balk, and Red is only just coaxing Sans back with the promise of more “uncomplicated” sex. Edge knows. That doesn’t make it easier to swallow.

Maybe Sans sees it in Edge’s expression, because he suddenly looks like he wants to be anywhere else. Then again, Sans usually struggles to keep up the cool and unconcerned bullshit in Edge’s presence. “Uh. Hey. Since when does the guard involve paperwork?”

The deep, deep irritation Edge feels about the ongoing paperwork clusterfuck almost derails him. Almost. “Strange, that’s exactly what Undyne said. Which is why there’s a three year backlog.” 

Sanses have no appreciation for protocol. Sans looks at him, bemused, like Edge is trying to sort grains of sand by size and color. Edge continues, “Some asshole kept submitting daily reports with ketchup stains on them.”

Expression as guileless as it can be, considering how little his face lends itself to innocence, Sans says, “What a dick.”

Then Red drops onto Sans’s back like Doomfanger jumping off a bookshelf onto Edge’s shoulder, a spoiled creature seeking attention. Sans staggers and looks up at the ceiling, pained. Finally someone recognizes what Edge has to deal with on a daily basis.

“Found him wandering,” Red says to Edge. His eyes glitter. Now that Sans is back in their hands, he looks steadier. “He followed me home. Can I keep him?”

Every time Red says something like that, every time Edge flirts, Sans’s eyes widen just a little, betraying him. It’s almost visible to the eye when Sans decides not to notice it, his denial so thorough that their overtures seem to catch him off guard and spook him every time. Sans tenses, his eyes darting to the door because solo shortcuts are closed to him with Red plastered to his back.

“If you promise to feed him,” Edge says, giving Red the set-up for an inevitable dick joke.

Red grins, appreciative, and nuzzles Sans. “I’ll feed him right now.”

Sans blinks, his train of thought derailed, and goes from looking cornered to annoyed. He can see the joke coming as easily as Edge. He elbows Red, who just grins like a Cheshire cat. Edge lets the roughhousing slide.

“Y’know,” Red continues as if Sans didn’t do anything. “My dick.”

“Subtle as ever, brother.” The word ‘brother’ makes Sans twitch. Edge has mercy and takes his eyes off Sans, studying his paperwork without seeing it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sans relax a little. “I’m not using him. You can borrow him.”

Red bullies him along towards the bedroom, purring, “Yeah, Sans, borrow me. Borrow me hard.”

Sans makes a derisive noise, the verbal equivalent of an eyeroll. It’s amazing that the two of them ever stop talking long enough for Red to get Sans’s pants off. Edge can all too well imagine the two of them talking shit the entire time they’re having sex, unable to let someone else have the last word. Exhausting. He can’t wait to see it himself.

The door closes behind them. A single thin door.

Edge has excellent hearing. After years of surviving on his reflexes, it's difficult to block out sound. In this human world, so inanely loud all the time, it can overwhelm him until everything feels like a threat. He doesn't classify that as a weakness, since everything typically _is_ a threat, but he hates the pitying way this Undyne looks at him when she notices it happening. His Undyne would understand. Red certainly does.

So when Red and Sans begin touching each other behind the closed door, he knows. He hears Sans whispering, though not the words, and Red's amused, "Why are you whispering? He already knows we're fucking."

Tactful as always.

The considerate thing to do would be to turn on the television to cover the noise. Unfortunately, layering one source of sound on top of another only makes it more likely to set him off. That one of those sounds is his brother means that he'll unconsciously fixate on it all the harder trying to pick it out, to make sure Red is safe. The noises Red makes in bed are similar to the ones he makes when he's in pain, which is fine when Edge is the one pleasuring (or hurting) him but less so when there's a door closed between them.

All of which is Edge justifying eavesdropping because he wants to hear this. He’s never claimed to be particularly moral.

Quiet behind the door. The squeak of bedsprings as they settle on Red's ancient, much-abused mattress. It's an unacceptable place for any kind of sex, but then Sans's standards clearly aren't very high. Red's voice is a murmur through the door. No discernable words, but Edge knows that low, filthy tone. Sans laughs, an unexpected sound that breaks off all at once. The soft, desperate noise that follows doesn’t sound like Red.

The paperwork is forgotten in Edge's lap. Trying to concentrate on it was a fool's errand. He sets it down on the couch, careful not to rustle the papers, as if either Red or Sans are in any state to notice. 

It's a strange, heady feeling, knowing that they're so close to him, separated only by a hallway and a door. They're both here, in his territory, trusting him to stand watch while they're vulnerable. Sans must know Edge can hear something of this, although probably not how much, and yet...

From behind the door, sudden and clear after Red's kept his voice so carefully low, Sans says, "Fuck me."

Edge's brows rise. He wonders what Red's been doing to put that raw note in Sans's voice so quickly. Settling deeper into the couch, he lays his head back and closes his eyes. He knows Red’s body so intimately, but his mental image of Sans's naked body isn't as sharp as it could be. He pictures Sans's bones as Red has described them to him. In his mind, he doesn’t imagine Sans wearing the shirts he refuses to take off. He sees Sans completely bare, his soul as bright as a star. It would be easy to let his magic form if he chose, but he lets it simmer and build instead.

Red is talking again. He sounds amused. Sans definitely sounds less so. The mattress springs creak rustily as they shift positions. Then Sans makes a bitten-off, vulnerable noise. Red shushes him, the sibilance of it carrying further than quiet words might, and Sans growls back at him.

How is Red fucking him? It'd be smart for Sans to be able to muffle himself against the mattress, and Edge pictures that for a moment: the curve of Sans's spine, his raised hips and exposed pelvis, Red opening him with his cock. But no, he doubts that Red would be that kind to him. This is a performance for Edge's benefit, a gift.

The mattress begins to creak rhythmically, settling into a driving pace. Red isn't being gentle. Neither of them speak; Sans is as quiet as Red said he was, none of the deep, helpless noises Red makes when Edge takes him fast and rough. Maybe if Edge went to the door, he could hear the soft, wet sound of Sans taking Red's cock. He doesn't move.

Edge exhales, long and slow. His hand eases down to his pelvis, where he's let his magic form before the pressure begins to hurt. He rubs the line of his cock through his pants, listening to the noises filtering through the door. He can hear Red grunting softly in exertion, though Red is being surprisingly careful to keep his voice down. The rhythm of the bedsprings changes subtly, becoming strangely less frantic but more purposeful. Sans does make noise then, muffled, like something is clamped over his mouth, and the need in it makes Edge give in. He unzips his pants and takes himself in hand.

Red murmurs, his voice rough with arousal and a well-won fight. The bedsprings continue to whine. Sans's voice cuts sharply off into silence. Then Red lets out a gravelly moan, deeply satisfied. Edge's head snaps back when he comes, spilling into his own hand as if Red's pleasure is his own.

The bedsprings slow, then stop. Silence. Deep, deep silence, long enough for Edge to wonder if he should be alarmed about it. When Red is silent, it's rarely a good sign. He gets up, grimacing at the mess in his hand, and heads for the kitchen to wash it off. The fact that the kitchen is separated from Red's bedroom by one thin wall is a bonus.

As he's washing his hands, his adrenaline picking up with every second of ominous silence, he hears Red speaking low and with strange gentleness. If Red is pretending that he cares nothing for Sans, he's doing a piss-poor job of it. Sans answers, sounding a little groggy, and Edge relaxes. Then there's a burst of laughter, the kind of helpless laughter Red (and Sans, apparently) peals out when he finds a joke genuinely hilarious, and Edge unwinds the rest of the way. A smile tugs at his mouth. They’re fine.

Edge returns to the couch, stretching an arm across the back of it, drumming his fingers. After a few minutes, there’s the crackle of a shortcut. He wishes Red wouldn’t abuse them quite so much, it’s enabling his laziness, but Edge can’t deny how useful they are. When the shortcut closes, the house settles into silence again. It feels different when Red isn’t there, filling it with dirty jokes and pointless bitching, like the world itself diminishes. Edge is a lovesick fool.

It’s unsurprising that Red took Sans home; if Red let Sans create his own shortcuts when he’s so visibly exhausted, Edge would kick his ass. What is surprising is that Red isn’t back right away. There’s no way that they’re fucking at Sans’s place, not with Papyrus within a mile radius, and Sans had looked ready to drop even before Red wore him out further. Which raises the question of what, exactly, Red is doing.

He’ll never get an answer, but he has some ideas.

Finally, Red comes out of Edge's room, naked. By now Edge is used to Red entering a room and exiting on the other side of the house. It's an old trick that still amuses Red somehow. Red throws himself onto the couch, his head on Edge’s lap (and coincidentally on top of the paperwork), and looks up at him. Up close, Edge can see the streaks of red, blue and purple on Red’s pelvis.

“Well?” Edge asks.

“I just got him off so hard he blacked out,” Red says, dangerously pleased with himself. 

Edge flicks the center of Red’s forehead. “I meant ‘is he sleeping,’ you smug asshole.”

“Yeah, he’s out cold. I wore him right out,” Red says. “Did you hear us?”

“You knew I would.”

Red grins proudly. “Yeah. He did too and it didn’t stop him. Gotta tell you, boss, we’re making real progress.”

It’s like Red was never worried at all. Red’s ability to swing from depression to bravado, even fake bravado, is impressive. Another change of masks.

“We are,” Edge agrees. He tugs at the paperwork under Red’s head. Red is as helpful as ever, which is to say that he doesn’t move. “Although I’m not thrilled about him fucking other monsters I haven’t vetted. Were you familiar with this person?”

“Uh, yeah,” Red says. “About that. One tiny little thing. It wasn’t a monster.”

It’s as if his soul is dunked in ice water. Edge stiffens. His voice drops into a snarl. “It was a human?”

“See, I knew you’d do that,” Red sighs. When Edge moves to get up, Red deliberately goes limp and so heavy that he must be abusing gravity magic to do it. “Nope.”

“I’ll kill him,” Edge says. He’s not entirely sure whether he means the human or Sans or both. Sans took a suicidal risk. Monsters in general are at the mercy of humans with violent intent, even those with high HP. The king himself could be taken down by a human with murder in their heart. If the human had one ounce of malice, _one_ , he could have killed Sans without even meaning to.

“I slashed the guy’s tires, it’s fine. Yell at Sans tomorrow,” Red says. “He’s sleeping. Ain’t that what you wanted?”

“I want him not to be a fucking idiot,” Edge says, grudgingly sinking back into the couch. Slashed tires are not a sufficient response, but anything stronger would probably be considered ‘illegal’ and a ‘diplomatic incident’ and ‘unnecessarily violent even for me, you nerd’. 

Red snorts. “Yeah, you ain’t getting that, collar or not.”

Edge hisses through his teeth. After a moment, he starts massaging the top of his nasal ridge. He has a Sans-shaped migraine. “Having to deal with two of you is punishment for all of my mistakes.”

“No,” Red says. His grin doesn’t change, but his eyes are sad. “You’ve never done anything bad enough for that.”

This again. Edge’s anger turns and finds a more familiar target. Edge grabs Red by the collar and says, a growl in his voice, “Shut the fuck up. I--”

 _I love you,_ he does not say. _I’ve killed for you. I would die for you. I love you and I’m not sorry._

“-- I don’t want to hear it,” is what he actually lets himself say. It’s lame, but it’s better than the truth. “It’s late. Go get some sleep.”

Red is a big fan of sleep; in the streets where they grew up, sleep was caught in uneasy patches, one of them watching the other’s back. Red still treats uninterrupted stretches of sleep like the luxury they are, and he has the sense to know that exhaustion could be the difference between surviving a fight and dying in one. So Edge isn’t expecting Red to stay put, looking up at him, a strange expression on his face.

“If you start picking up his bad habits, I’ll kick your ass,” Edge says.

“No, I…” Red glances away, his mouth quirking. “Heh. I just thought of something funny. You, uh, wanna come to bed?”

Edge raises a brow. “Three rounds of sex in a night is a bit much, even for you.”

“Ugh.” Red drags a hand down his face. “You ain’t slept in a while. Gotta keep sharp, y’know?”

Oh. Red wants to share the bed, in other words, which they never do unless one or the other of them was nearly killed or--

“Nightmares?” Edge asks. If Red was hiding them from him again, Edge is going to be seriously irked.

“Fuck, never mind,” Red says, sitting up. “Forget I said anything. Draw a couple dicks on the paperwork for me.”

“I have to give these to Undyne,” Edge says. Red mutters something that sounds like ‘un-Undyne’ because any Sans’s ideas for nicknames are universally bad. “When comes to her, dicks are never the answer.”

Red barks a laugh. “Good one. Night, boss.”

He exits in the wrong direction, headed for his own bedroom, but the sound of Red climbing on their bed comes from Edge’s room. Edge taps the pen against the paperwork once, twice, three times. Then he drops the pen and goes to his room.

The lights are off already. Red is a lump beneath the covers, smaller without the layers of clothes, vulnerable enough that it chokes in Edge’s throat. One red eye opens when Edge blocks the light of the doorway, then deliberately closes again. Red doesn’t stir while Edge strips off his clothes, folds them because he’s not a fucking animal, and then climbs beneath the cool sheets. 

Red has made a little pocket of warmth in the center of the bed. Of course he’s taking up much more room than he needs to, forcing Edge to the outside of the bed until his ass is nearly hanging off. Edge shoves him forward a couple of times, then curls up against Red’s back. 

He can feel Red breathing, careful, measured, like he’s getting ready to spring. Layered on top of the familiar scents of Red’s bones and sweat and come, there’s another, slightly sweeter smell. Sans is a ghost in their bed.

After a long time, Red presses back against him a little. Edge’s throat feels tight. His soul hasn’t beat this hard since the first time they fell into bed. It feels just as taboo to put an arm around Red and draw him back against his body. Red lets out a long, shaky breath.

“Don’t get ideas,” Red says without looking back at him. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Of course not,” Edge says.

Red tenses. His voice scrapes like the edge of a blade across bone. “Papyrus.”

How many times has Edge heard Red say his name exactly like that? Since he gained his second LV and Red abandoned the protective coddling and _you’ll never have to do that again, Paps, I promise._ It became barked orders and _stay behind me, you little shit, are you trying to get yourself killed?_ and Red letting Edge finish off whatever stupid bastard came after them, like a mother cat bringing stunned mice to a kitten for their first kill. Pushing Edge away when Edge came to him for comfort. Only letting Edge heal his injuries as a last resort. The two of them getting more vicious and more safe and more distant, until Red was a bitter, exhausted ghost, drinking too much and laughing too shrilly and fighting like he didn’t care who had to scatter his dust, until the worst nearly happened, Edge was finally, finally old enough and strong enough to take over. To _make_ Red let him take over.

And yet Red pulls this bullshit like Edge is still the stupid, helpless child who believed in mercy.

“Papyrus,” Red says again, when Edge doesn’t answer. It’s gone from an order to something worse: a plea.

“Fine,” Edge says. He tightens his grip around Red. “Nothing’s changed. Now go to sleep.”

At least Red seems to accept that. He settles. After a little while, his breathing evens out and he’s heavy in Edge’s arms.

Of course Red believed him. When it comes to lying, Edge learned from the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: possessive behavior, Underfell relationships are fucked up, Edge jerking off to Sans and Red having sex in another room.


End file.
